The Hunter
by Valhallasdaughter
Summary: Izzy, a Zuni Hokdi Dasha and bounty hunter, is hunting a Navajo Witch who sought sanctuary in Aspen Creek. While in pursuit of her prey, Izzy confronts Bran Cornick, Marrok of the wolves of North America. As they square off over the extradition arrangements, Izzy realizes two things: First, Bran needs her help, and second, she might just want to help him.


Izzy had smelled the wolf guarding Barney Tso the minute she pulled her helmet off. She had known there would be at least one. Barney had a five-day head start on her, and he had had been driving hard when he left the pueblo. He had been in Aspen Creek for at least two days already, long enough for the wolves to hear his appeal for sanctuary. It didn't matter. No matter what the wolves decided, Tso was leaving with her.

She shifted her weight back on the Triumph, causing her dust-covered, leather riding jacket to creak while she placed her booted feet on the hard packed dirt of the parking lot. The ride through the Bitterroots had been one of desolate beauty, soothing her mind into a place of stillness, unusual for such a hunt. Perhaps that is why she decided to let the wolf sense her now. She was in no hurry.

She surveyed the shabby front of the Montana Moose Motel with eyes so dark as to have no distinction between iris and pupil. The motel was cheaply built to resemble a long, log cabin. The resemblance was marred however, by the row of garishly green painted doors that faced the dirt parking lot. The lot was empty this afternoon, except for Izzy, and a lone, battered, full-sized pick-up truck parked on the other side, in front of the sign that said "Office." The lot had once boasted gravel, but no one had bothered with its upkeep in a awhile, indicating it didn't get many regular customers. A stray breeze kicked up dust from the lot and brought the scent from the truck to her nostrils. From the smell, the truck belonged to the same wolf that was behind the green door on the right.

Without dismounting the bike, she twisted back and unbuckled one side of the saddlebags, slid in the helmet and tucked her riding gloves in next to it. She kept her moves casual and deliberate, her dark eyes revealing nothing. The wolf would have heard her Triumph pull in, but he might just think her a lost tourist. She stalled further, removing her heavy leather jacket, and ran her hand over the thick, midnight braid that hung well below the waist of her faded jeans. She let her scent reach the wolf that was standing guard over her quarry.

The Navajo Nation had hired her to bring Barney back to Fort Defiance in Arizona to answer for something involving curses and desecrated sand paintings and the neighboring Apache Tribe. She hadn't asked the details, hadn't needed to. Whatever it was, it was big enough for them to pay her fee, and so here she was.

She heard the wolf's heart beat pick up when he caught her scent. He was understandably nervous. It wasn't every day a wolf would catch the scent of a Hokdi Dasha, the second strongest of the Six. If werewolf mothers had existed, they would have scared their pups with stories of her. She could not feel the Pack magic that allowed communication from a lesser wolf to his Alpha, but she knew the wolf would use it. Her presence in Pack Territory would most assuredly be something of notice. She stretched, holding her arms above her head briefly, causing the sleek layer of muscle to move beneath her brown skin. Slinging a long leg over the motorcycle, she dusted off her jeans and the light yellow t-shirt she wore that said "Arizona!" in bold black font. She unstrapped and checked the Glock in her ankle holster and the .38 at her hip and replaced them with satisfaction. Both were visible, both were loaded with standard ammo, no silver. Both were unnecessary, but conveyed a message. She was here to hunt man, not wolves. When she was sure that the wolf knew she was armed, she leaned casually on the Triumph, turned her face to the sun, and waited.

Within 10 minutes, she heard the approach of a vehicle on the Highway coming south from the heart of Aspen Creek, the only vehicle she had noted southbound on the road since her arrival. Another older model pick-up truck came in to Izzy's view, but this one had been completely restored. The late afternoon sun glinted off the shiny, red paint as it slowly pulled in. The driver was an Indian, like herself, with similar high cheekbones and aquiline features. The passenger was a young white man with sandy brown hair. The truck came to a stop a few yards from her and the engine cut while the dust settled. Izzy was careful to not make eye contact with the new wolves yet, not out of necessity, but out of courtesy. She wasn't here to fight, at least, not unless she had to.

The two wolves exited the truck simultaneously, their movements so similar that even if Izzy hadn't already know who they were, she would have clued in on the relation. The tall Indian, Charles Cornick, was known to all her people, for both his mother's and his father's heritage which had been passed to him. The only known werewolf to have been born, Charles was closer to her kind than he or his father, knew. His father, Bran Cornick, Marrok of the Wolves of North America was shorter than his son. As he walked next to Charles, Izzy had the urge to smile, which caused a tickle of surprise to light through her, unsettling her for an instant. That the Alpha of all the werewolves would look so unassuming was something she hadn't anticipated. Bran's eyes were a clear green that held no fear or threat, just a cautious curiosity. Maybe this hunt would end without….complications.

They stopped a few yards from her. A mundane human, even a smart one, would keep his eyes on Charles, thinking he was the larger threat. Well over six foot, even in clad in worn work boots and jeans, Charles was impressive. His easy grace and confident movements spoke of man without real fear. Izzy wasn't mundane. She was only partially human. She knew that the real threat was standing in front of her wearing a grey, hooded sweatshirt. Bran was centuries old, even if he appeared to be twenty-five, and had a medium frame smoothly muscled like an Olympic swimmer. His scent was like musk and mint and spruce and fir, but beneath it all she could smell power.

Izzy was a complete anomaly in her tribe, not only for her gifts, but for the way she conducted herself. Untraditional. Many of the Aunties had blamed it on her early years with Grandfather, others blamed it on the Foster Homes were she had been sent after Tribal Services took her into custody. She didn't care what they thought, so long as it allowed her freedom. But for all her strangeness and years away from the tribe, some parts of her culture where immutable, and so she did not meet Bran's eyes as he stood before her. Direct eye contact among the Nations is reserved for very intimate persons, or hated enemies. This facet of her culture was something that tended to be a bit at conflict with werewolves. Wolves viewed averted eyes as submissiveness, which would be a grave mistake for these two to make about her. Bran spoke first.

"Kuku ts'ana, Kesshi." He said. The shock the greeting brought was so sudden, Izzy, gave a sharp, involuntary exhale, as if someone had punched her in the chest. To the keen ears of predators, even such a small sound was as loud as a shout, and as revealing. She felt her face flushing. She had heard that the Marrok was cunning, but she was wholly unprepared for this! The Zuni language is obscure even among Natives, and to hear it from this green-eyed wolf was more than a surprise. Kuku ts'ana! He referred to her as his younger sister! Her shock overcame her manners and she looked straight into his face, only to find his eyes politely averted, as was the custom of her people.

Izzy's mind reeled. She inhaled slowly and pushed herself upright from where she had been leaning against the Triumph and forced her mind to clear.

"You know why I'm here then." Her voice was steady, completely at odds with her emotions.

"I do." His voice was a warm baritone, and held no guile or threat her ears could discern. "The matter is more…complicated than I would have liked, however, and I need to apologize."

She waited for him to continue, more from shock than patience. Her mind barely comprehended what was being said, as she was still stuck at the point where the Marrok apologized. The general information circulating about Bran Cornick had thus far proved to be very wrong on some key points. This man was powerful, yes; but also intelligent and very charming. She hadn't been prepared to like him.

"I'm afraid that I can't let you take him-" For this last piece, Bran looked her in the eye, his jade to her onyx. She felt the weight of not only his authority, but every werewolf under him. Such a weight could break not only a will, but a mind as well, and had been know to leave even grizzled werewolves shaken. Izzy only curled her lip. She may not have been prepared for Bran Cornick to greet her in her native tongue, but she had been prepared to go head to head with an Alpha.

Something akin to a smile flickered on his mouth for a second and then vanished. She had surprised him as well. She began to open her mouth to speak, but the Marrok was faster. He held up his hands in a placating gesture.

"-Yet." He finished, quickly and directed a small grin at her. She saw just the slightest hint of dimples in his cheeks. Why had no one ever mentioned the Marrok had dimples? Were dimples and Marrok even allowed in the same sentence? She tore her eyes from the Marrok's face and looked in the direction of Charles, trying to keep her mind focused on what was at hand. Charles' expression was controlled, but with the slightest hint of amusement in the corner of his mouth, not at her, however, he had his eyes fixed on his father. Were they laughing at her? Izzy's temper stirred slightly.

Bran seemed to sense it, dropped his hands and continued, "I currently have a small delegation of Alpha's here, discussing issues of some importance. Barney Tso arrived at a rather… inconvenient time. He has requested sanctuary. His father runs with my pack, and so I must allow for the appeal to be heard officially, but I must attend to these other things first." He ran a long fingered hand through his unruly hair while he spoke, looking more like a college boy asking a girl for a casual drink than one supernatural being conversing with another over the fate of a human. "I would like to ask that you stay for a few days, until my other business is concluded, and then I will deal with Tso."

Izzy crossed her arms and leaned back on the Triumph again, and quickly ran through Bran's request in her mind, weighing it carefully. Having the Marrok ask for anything was interesting, and improving relations with the wolves could prove to be beneficial on any future hunts that could lead her into a Pack territory. She lost nothing if she allowed herself to wait to bring Barney Tso back to the Navajo. Montana was beautiful. She was in no hurry. She almost convinced herself that those were the only reasons that she nodded her head in agreement to the Marrok's request, and not because the proposition of spending more time learning about this green-eyed wolf appealed to her.

Charles had remained silent throughout the exchange, watching his father. When Izzy nodded her agreement to Bran's request, Charles spoke.

"She would be more comfortable in your upper cabin, Da, than down here in town." His voice was rich and deep, like his father's, and Izzy wondered why he had spoken aloud to Bran, when he could have spoken through the pack link. Bran and Charles locked eyes for a second and Bran nodded slightly. Her instincts told her there was much more at play here than what was on the surface.

"If you would like, you can ride with us, the road to the cabin is rough." Charles suggested, but somehow, Izzy knew it wasn't a suggestion, not really. Again, she nodded her agreement slowly, while scanning unobtrusively for anything strange in the surroundings. It had taken her a few moments, but she realized that the Marrok and his son had been trying to communicate something to her, something that could not be said aloud. That is why Bran had used the Zuni familiar greeting with her. No casual listener would have understood the impact of Bran referring to her as his 'younger sister.' Even his use of her language told her that he knew who she was, what she was and why she was here. If she hadn't been distracted by his damn dimples, she would have known from the start that Bran Cornick had been asking for her help.

She looked up at the Marrok now through lowered lashes, and allowed a small smile to pull her full mouth into a half smile. Raising one perfectly arched black brow, she purposefully locked her eyes with his, signaling her acceptance to his unspoken request. She would help, and he would owe her.

"That would be just fine." Her words were bold, and her look was bolder. She was rewarded when the emerald green of his eyes lightened two shades to a creamy jade. Her challenge had stirred Bran's wolf. To anger the Marrok as a foreign predator in his territory would be a death sentence, but it wasn't anger Izzy that caught in Bran's scent as she held his gaze unwavering. It was desire.


End file.
